


Nom De Plume

by Endangered_Slug



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Did I Mention Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Fluffity fluff fluff FLUFF, More Fluff, Parent/teacher meeting, Someone has a secret hobby, WRONG! It's the other one!, You'll never guess who it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-05-08 08:48:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14690601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Endangered_Slug/pseuds/Endangered_Slug
Summary: Bae's latest prank has Gold meeting with Miss French after school were he experiences near panic attacks, a fashion crime, a bit of banter, and the knowledge that he may be the luckiest man on earth.A bit of pick me up for the end of the series.





	Nom De Plume

**Author's Note:**

> You can blame suchadearie for this.

It was the tell tale smugness of Bae’s face that tipped Gold off that something wasn’t quite right with the world and it was all his son’s doing. Bae’s sweet, elfin face trying not to smirk and failing miserably as he fished a crumpled note out of his front pocket and handed it over.

“I have detention for the next week,” Bae said almost gleefully as if detention was something to be proud of and not at all inconvenient to his father who had rearranged his entire life so that he would be home for his son after school every day since kindergarten.

Honestly the boy seemed determined to send him to an early grave.

Bae’s eyes twinkled. “And Miss French wants to meet with you.”

Gold inhaled sharply, feeling his stomach flip flop at the mention of his teacher. Miss French was five foot two inches of pure terror. Not for the students. For _himself_. “What did you do, boy?” he groaned, snatching the note from his son’s fingers. He smoothed it open as best he could and read the neat, precise handwriting, the mere presence of which seemed to accuse him of bad parenting. “Inappropriate content?” he said after a moment. “What is this?”

Bae shrugged, but Gold could tell he knew exactly what he’d done. He re-read the note, his heart sinking into his toes. He didn’t know what had gotten into his son this year. Bae had always been a sweet, kind, thoughtful boy up until he turned thirteen and then puberty caught up, running over him like a freight train and Gold’s nicely ordered world tipped on its axis. Now, Bae’s thoughtfulness had turned crafty and the kindness… well, that was still there, but it was hidden underneath a layer of degeneracy that only a thirteen year-old boy can attain. Gold knew this because he was once a thirteen year-old boy and he was intimately acquainted with the things thirteen year-old boys got up to when no one was looking, and, in a few notable cases, even when they were.

Bae wasn’t a bad child. He didn’t set things on fire or throw rocks at the neighbor’s dog or anything like that, but he had discovered the thrill of being the class prankster and took every chance to cause as much chaos as he could.

Gold sighed heavily, sternly looking at his son over his reading glasses. Bae at least had the good sense to look ashamed now instead of that impish delight he’d walked in with. Gold felt sorry for that. As much as Bae’s shenanigans were difficult to put up with and defuse, Gold did love his son’s sense of humor and his creativity.

His eyes traveled from his son’s guilty face down to the note. _Inappropriate content._ Something itched in the back of his head, an irritating buzzing that wouldn’t go away. He read the two words until they seemed etched into his retinas. That buzzing feeling pinged and he turned to look at the bookcase behind him. The special book case with the special books. Gold swore he heard fanfare as his eyes scanned the various titles until he reached the empty space where one had gone missing.

He took off the glasses and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “Why?” There was no need to elaborate. Bae knew exactly what he meant.

The boy shrugged halfheartedly and gave him the glimmer of an impish smile. “Miss French said _any_ book we wanted.”

“Next year’s students won’t get as much freedom,” Gold pointed out before slumping back into his leather chair in defeat, tossing his glasses on the desk with a soft clatter. “It had to be one of those books did it? You couldn’t pick something from the library and now I have to get ready to meet your teacher and explain how you got it.”

“Just sweet talk her, dad,” Bae grinned as he slipped out of Gold’s office. “That’s what I do.”

Gold scrambled around his desk, but his old foot injury and his aching knees from sitting all day prevented him from catching him. He hung out of the doorway, calling out to his son’s retreating back. “Tch! Go to your room, boy. And _stay_ there!” he added as an afterthought lest the boy crawl out the window just to prove a point.

 

* * *

 

Schools after hours always unnerved Gold. It felt wrong to be there when it wasn’t filled with kids, but it also felt wrong to be there when it was filled with kids. The fluorescent lights felt off somehow, casting lonely shadows, and the silent hallways were downright creepy, his footsteps and the tapping of his cane echoing as shame walked down the hallway in search of room 213.

It wasn’t fair. Last year, Bae’s English teacher was a dyspeptic man hardly older than Gold, but who acted like he had one foot into the grave and likely to bring you with him. Frollo had greasy black hair, a pinched mouth and a nose that wrinkled up around the nostrils making him look like he had a permanent sneeze that just wouldn’t come. _Why couldn’t it have been him_ , Gold thought as he came to a stop in front of Miss French’s door, which, coincidentally, happened to be across the hall to Frollo’s. A quick peek into 212 showed that the light was off, the other teacher had already gone home for the night. He could have had Frollo on the floor begging for forgiveness in three seconds. He knew this because it had happened once.

Miss French on the other hand? Miss French was a weaponized bundle of adorable sternness that came straight out of his own fantasies and Gold would rather have eaten a frog than come in for this meeting to discuss his son’s misbehavior. It wasn’t that she was pretty, or smart, or sweet, and had blue eyes the color of forget me nots which seemed to pierce right through to his very soul. And soft curls that he wanted to bury his face into. And her accent… He’d never had a thing for the Antipodes until he’d met her and then suddenly he’d found himself with the urge to sit at her lap and listen to her read the phone book -- provided one could be found in this day and age. Flatly said, Miss French left him feeling like a quivering wreck of a schoolboy and he hated it. He hated being near her because he was all wrong whenever it happened. He said the wrong thing, or did the wrong thing, or showed up at the wrong time. He wanted to be perfect and he never quite managed to even make it to adequate.

Gold looked down at himself, checking to see if he was presentable, that knotted up feeling of being called to the carpet was beginning to make itself known. He’d been so scatterbrained since Bae came home from school that he was surprised he’d remembered to put his trousers on, but everything seemed fine. His jacket was buttoned, tie was straight, zipper zipped, the creases on his slacks were crisp, his cane polished, his socks matched and his... Gold stared in open-mouthed horror, the upset tummy feeling churning even faster. His socks matched, but his _shoes_ didn’t.

He blinked just in case it was the tricky fluorescent lighting, but one shoe stubbornly stayed a buttery brown while the other was a glossy black. For heaven’s sake they weren’t even the same style. How had he not noticed? He looked up into room 213’s window to see if Miss French was waiting for him, then looked down the hall. Maybe, if he left really fast he could just go home. There was no reason to do this in person. A phone call would do the job. An email even. He was so much better writing the things he needed to say than he was speaking to, well, to Miss French face to face. He’d send one from his car in the parking lot.

Just as he’d decided to take the coward’s way out, the door opened, showing a beaming Miss French staring up at him with sparkling sky blue eyes and a welcoming smile on her face. Her mass of brown hair, normally kept back with a clip during the day, was let out to gracefully fall over her shoulders in soft waves. She was shorter than he was. Practically the only adult in town that was and her slender frame made him feel like a giant in comparison.

“Mr. Gold!” she said, breathlessly as if she’d run a mile to the door. “I thought that was you.”

He grimaced, turning slowly back, away from freedom, towards certain humiliation, and greeted her as well as he could. “Miss French.”

Her eyes crinkled up adorably, obviously pleased to see him, which was plain odd.

“Please, Mr. Gold. Call me Belle,” she told him warmly. She was still looking at him like he was actually a welcome presence in her space.

He stared back at her, awestruck and a bit frantic. He could feel a panic bubble well up in his chest. It was a solid thing filled with hysteria that was slowly sliding up from his lungs heading to his throat where it would emerge in a hysterical cackle that wouldn’t end until he wound up in the hospital. He pressed his lips together until they practically disappeared into his mouth. “Mm.”

She waited half a beat, the smile on her face felt chillier than it had three seconds earlier, but she opened the door wider and swept a hand inviting him in.

Gold was able to breathe in again once she turned away.

“I’m sorry to have to call you in like this,” she said walking to her desk, the clack clack clack of her heels striking the floor sounded like sharp reprimands to his ears. “But this time Bae couldn’t talk himself out of it and I have been needing to speak to you about him for a while.”

Gold’s eyes followed her before he allowed himself to enter the room, unwilling to get too close to her. Too close was too much. He blithered when he was nervous. Absolutely had no way of communicating in more than monosyllabic grunts. How was he going to talk to his son’s teacher without looking like a moron?

He sat in a desk at the front, folding himself awkwardly into the chair and leaving his cane to sit on another desk opposite. Maybe she would take pity on an old, handicapped man? He cleared his throat, willing words to appear in a speech bubble he could point to.

She wasn’t even _looking_ at him. Busy, rifling through some papers on the desk, she was blissfully unaware of his discomfort and that was worse than the actual discomfort he was currently in. If he had to be uncomfortable, he at least wanted the attention.

She looked up at him then, her blue eyes traveling over his body with interest.

No. No. Nevermind, he didn’t want her to look at him at all. Too much. It was too much.

He realized then that she’d said something vital earlier and he forced himself to say something. “Ah… what about?”

Good. That was good. Three words in total. Almost.

He was feeling very proud of himself when he noticed that her eyes had made it to his feet. Her eyes squinting and head tilted in curiosity. Gold felt his face burn, just like the shoes would burn when he got home. He’d chuck them right into the fire and then throw himself in after.

She had the grace to say nothing.

“Um…” She tore her eyes away from his shoes and looked at him, her own cheeks coloring softly pink. Gold never wanted to nuzzle anyone or anything more in his _life_.

She cleared her throat and began again, her confidence building up perceptively. “I, uh, wanted to--” She glanced at her notes then back at him. “Talk to you about Bae’s trajectory.”

“Are you ready to launch him into space, too?” Gold asked, forgetting for that millisecond that he was terrified out of his wits. He sat back in the plastic chair feeling stunned at himself.

She blinked once then broke out into a peal of giggles.

Watching Miss French helplessly laugh over her desk was probably the highlight of his day. Maybe even the week. She glanced at him, her eyes shining bright with happy tears and her smile wider than he’d ever seen before. She _beamed_ at him. Him!

It was the highlight of his entire year.

“I didn’t know you were funny,” she said once she recovered, holding her hands up to her cheeks. It was a shame, really, they were deliciously pink now.

“I didn’t know it either,’ he said, fascinated by the way her lips were pressed into a tight line as if to keep herself from smiling even more. Pity. Her genuine laughter made the whole blasted ordeal worth it.

“No, I meant Bae’s future at the high school,” she said once she’d recovered, fanning her hand in front of her face. “Whoo! I’m sorry, I’m a bit overheated from laughing so much. Do you mind if I take this off? It’s been so warm today.” she asked, unbuttoning her blouse.

Gold looked to his left wondering if there was a hidden camera in place. “Uh… No?” He clasped his hands on the desk in front of him, his knuckles white from the tight grip. He both wanted to run away _and_ fall at her feet to beg for permission to lick her ankles. It was an exquisite sensation, this squirming and indecision, and Gold very much wanted it to last. Or end. The windows were close by and he was on the smallish side. He’d probably be able to jump out without doing too much physical damage to himself.

There were fourteen buttons on Miss French’s shirt and Gold held his breath as he watched each and every one of them open up, barely able to look at her long enough but absolutely unwilling to look away. Her hands slid down the placket smoothly as she nimbly slipped each button through their holes. She had her eyes trained on the notes in front of her, but every so often he’d catch a fleeting glance at him before they turned back to her desk, so fast that he wasn’t quite sure it happened.

She peeled the blouse off, the delicate fabric giving way to reveal a thin t-shirt, “A Woman’s Place is in the Rebellion” emblazoned upon it. Gold exhaled in relief. He wouldn’t have to jump out the window after all.

Gold blinked at it then looked up at Miss French’s face, guiltily. He had no idea what he’d been expecting. Certainly not his son’s teacher taking her shirt off in front of him -- highly inappropriate at best. And definitely not there being another shirt underneath -- moderately disappointing. And, most importantly, absolutely not finding the whole thing as erotic as he did -- to be examined later. Alone. In the dark. With the door locked.

“Star Wars night at the library later,” she explained with a rueful look. “I don’t have time to change.”

“Mmmhmm. No. Not at all.” He shifted in his seat uncomfortable in the knowledge that he was not too old to grow a spontaneous boner.

She smiled at him, her eyes squishing up adorably. “So, as I was saying, we’ve handed out the course requests for high school next year and Bae’s is…” she pulled it out and handed it to him. “It’s interesting.”

Gold slid out of the seat, hunched over awkwardly both to hide his erection and also because sitting in that seat was killing his knees.

He scanned the sheet in front of him not seeing anything out of the ordinary. They’d gone over it at home, all the required classes were set, but the electives had to be talked about at length.

“I’m not sure what you mean. We went over it at home.” He looked up at her, an eyebrow raised.

She looked pleased at that, as if the barest amount of attention made him father of the year. “I think he can do more,” she said proudly.

“More?”

“Bae’s really smart,” she told him, putting her arms on the desk and leaning eagerly towards him. “High school is so much different than middle school, but I think he’ll be able to handle the advanced course load. I’d like to see him in the AP classes. Especially English. As you know I’m his homeroom teacher so I’ve been able to track his middle school career a bit and I think he’s just plain bored. You remember the turtles?”

Nothing would ever make him forget the turtles. Somehow Bae had gotten it into his head to let three large turtles loose in the school -- where he’d found them Gold had no idea -- their shells labeled in sharpie 1, 2, and 4. It took a week before the teachers realized there was never a fourth turtle labeled with a 3. Gold had to talk the principal out of an in-school suspension, but it was a very near thing.

“He’s a bright kid. I love having him in class even when he’s clowning around. Let’s face it, I can only read Hatchet so many times before even I get bored with it.”

Gold felt gratified at the warm praise of his son. “So you think he just needs more to challenge him?” Made sense. This pranking phase was wearing thin on everyone.

“I do. Take this book report,” she said wryly. “The subject matter is not what I would call appropriate for the class, but it was very well written. He knew his material at least, which, given his age, is somewhat alarming.”

Gold slowly sat up straighter. “You’ve read it?”

She glared at him, offended. “Of course I have. I read all my student’s reports.”

“I mean the book. You’ve read the book?”

He’d stopped her before she could begin, her mouth hanging open in shock at being called out. She snapped it shut and sniffed, pretending that she just didn’t out herself as an erotic romance reader. “I-I-I like reading all kinds of books,” she said defensively.

“But you’re read that specific book before?” he asked eagerly.

She pressed her lips into a thin line before irritably declaring, “I have the entire series. The author happens to be one of my favorites.” She cleared her throat, a bright red flush creeping up from her collar to spread to her face like blossoms. She remembered herself and straightened up, her shoulders held back stiffly. “But that doesn’t explain how he got the book,” she said, glaring at him in accusation, pointing her finger at him.

He gave an uneasy chuckle, scratching at the back of his head as he considered his possibilities. He decided to let Bae of the hook. “Well, actually that’s easy. I have a shelf full of the things.” He let out a long breath, trying to get his heart rate to slow down and let the rest of him catch up.

Her hand flopped to her desk. “Wha-- You do?”

He didn’t mean to do it, but when he got embarrassed or flustered, Gold’s accent came out in full force, which made him roll his R’s more than necessary, which, in turn, made him sound more like Scrooge MacDuck than, say, Ewan MacGregor. What he _meant_ to say was, “You must understand, Belle, I am the author of these books and, as such, I have author’s copies.” But what it sounded like was a spluttering, “Oof _courrrrrrdddddse_ Aye have th’ boohks. Aye _wrrrrrroot_ thim!”

He wanted to die on the spot.

The oncoming lecture on youth-friendly literature was cut short before it could even begin. Belle’s mouth hung open, her pink lips forming a small ‘o’ in stunned realization. “You… _what_?” she gasped, utterly breathless with disbelief.

Gold squirmed in his seat a bit. His career wasn’t common knowledge for a reason. “He’s supposed to leave the books alone, but you know how kids are when something’s forbidden. Like moths to a flame they are.” He was thankful the brogue toned itself down a bit. At least she was able to understand him now.

She tilted her head and squinted at him in confusion. “ _You’re_ Lacey Scarlett?”

“It’s a pen name,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest defensively. “I mean would _you_ buy a book from someone named Lucifer Gold?”

Her mouth seemed permanently unhinged. “Your first name is Lucifer?”

“It’s where the Lacey came from.” The issues he had with his given name, and there were many, could fill an American football stadium.

Her mouth open and closed, trying to process this new information. She’d make a charming fish. “And the Scarlett?” she squeaked.

He shrugged. “Seemed easiest to pick another color. I have an Aunt Lacey, she’d spin in her grave if I used Gold. And Lacey Periwinkle sounded a bit twee.” He tried to smile at the old, tired joke.

She stared at him, breathing heavily. “You’re Lacey Scarlett? This whole time?”

He thought he’d made that quite clear, but he understood trying to reconcile his writer’s persona with his real life one was a bit of a shock. “Bae doesn’t like it to be known outside the family. Having a father that writes is one thing, but having a father that writes erotic fantasy is another. I won’t have him bullied.”

That seemed to shake her out of her dazed stupor. “No, I’d never tell. You have my word.” She then realized that she’d been gaping at him for minutes and, coloring delightfully once more, she turned away, giving him a gorgeous view of her neck. There was a spot that looked like it was ripe for kissing.

He shifted in his seat, uneasy with himself for letting his mind wander like that. “I still don’t see why I’m here though.” Yes, there you go. Endear yourself by making her justify her actions. Smooth.

She conceded his point with a sheepish look. “Well, normally I’d give him a talking to about appropriateness and be done with it. But part of the grade is giving an oral presentation.”

Gold, his brain still stuck on the fact that Miss French -- _Belle_ \-- read his books, short circuited and only heard one word. “Oral? He didn’t, uh...?”

She tsked in exasperation “He had to read the report aloud, Mr. Gold. To the class. I just--” she slapped her hand on the desk in exasperation. “Do all Gold men have to have everything spelled out for them? Is this a genetic trait?

It may well be. Gold hadn’t considered that before. He certainly _liked_ to find loopholes in the rules. It was a fun kind of hide and seek to know where things could be bent and where they could be broken and where you could simply walk right through. He’d have made a good lawyer. Bae might be better at it. Tell him he couldn’t eat any chocolate before dinner and he’d go and eat an entire bag of gummy bears, arguing through chipmunk cheeks that he wasn’t _told_ that he couldn’t. Gold chuckled a bit at the thought, but then something occurred to him. A terrible imbalance.

“You don’t have to call me Mr. Gold. You can call me Lu--”

She was shaking her head rapidly, her face set in stone. “I _really_ don’t want to.”

“--Luke,” he finished anyway, already having started. “Uh...” Well, there was nothing more left to do other than apologize profusely and try not to trip on his way out.

“Oh. Sorry.” She smiled at him, shyly. “I like Luke.”

“Better than… Well, it’s better. So, Bae’s in trouble, not for the book, but because he read the report out loud to the whole class?”

“I realize my mistake in not approving the books in advance and I assure you that is going to change moving forward.” She looked down at a paperclip, picking at it with her fingernails. “He also, ah, read a quote.”

“Ah.”

“Part where the space pirate, um… boards the, er… the lady.”

What a stinker. Well, that probably explained why Bae never really asked about the birds and the bees. He’d already steeped himself in the knowledge of pirates and ladies. “How far did he get?”

“I stopped him about four words in. But you might expect a few angry phone calls from some parents tomorrow. I know I will be getting a few for allowing this to happen.”

“Well, I’m sorry to have caused you trouble.”

“You didn’t. I honestly should have checked their books. It was a rookie mistake and I knew better. Didn’t even make it when I was a rookie.”

Gold let that hang for a moment, just dying to ask.

She seemed to know what he was too polite to say. “I’m thirty-four in case you were wondering. And, uh, you?”

Him? Oh! “Forty-five.” Forty-five but feeling like he was seventeen the way she was staring at him with moony eyes and smiling pink lips. Was it possible this whole evening was happening? Maybe he got into a car crash on the way here and he was having one hell of a hallucination.

“Single?” Her voice was raised at least two octaves. “Bae never mentions a mother. Not that I’ve asked,” she added quickly. “But kids usually say something.”

“Since Bae was five. I-I have to ask,” he said, scooting forward in his seat, thankful for the barrier preventing him from leaping up and making a fool of himself. The urge to kiss her was becoming undeniable and he really, really didn’t want to wreck things. He was sure the wrecking part would come later, but, for now, he wanted this one perfect evening.  “Are you--”

“Gathering the nerve to ask you out?” she blurted. Belle’s eyes widened at her admission, the blue nearly lost in a sea of startling black.  

A swarm of butterflies swirled about his stomach. He’d thought he was too old for that sort of thing, and yet, there they were banging around in their like he was a lad in short pants. It was glorious. And so was she. He felt like laughing and he said, a bit breathlessly, “I was going to ask are you after my rough draft, but I like that one better.”

She brightened, her shoulders squaring back as she nodded almost to herself. “Well, good. I, uh, was hoping that maybe sometime -- on-on the weekend of course -- that we might go out.” The pink was back on her cheeks again and she looked utterly beautiful. “Like on a date.”

Oh she was brave. A bit scared but bravely covering it up and seeing things through. He could at least pay her the complement of meeting her half way.

She flashed an impish smile at him, her eyes glinting. “And if things turn out nicely. Then you can show me your rough draft.”

“I think that would be lovely.” Something felt weird inside him. A bubbling sensation in his tummy that joined the butterflies in a line dance. It took him a moment before he realized what it was. Happy. He was happy. How strange! He had a date for the weekend and Belle liked his books and she liked him enough to… wait. “We’re still talking about my book, yeah?”

Her impish smile turned downright sultry. “Sure, we can start with that.”


End file.
